“I am no gusli player,” Artur explained, “but let’s catch our breath here in the raskovnik, and I’ll see if I can tell you the story.”

I sat up, ready to protest.  “Do we have time for this?”

Artur raised a bushy eyebrow.  “Either she’s dragonchow, or she’s fine and Nellie is waiting for something else.  A negotiation, because just biting down on someone else’s magic is likely to give you several different kinds of indigestion.  I think she’s waiting for us.  Ivan had to have told her somehow.”

I didn’t like the idea but he had a point.  Either we were too late, and we were just going to get et ourselves, or we were a pivot of sorts.  Peredur had just about said it, so now that we had played with the Watcher on the Threshold, we had a few minutes.  Of course, if I’d known that, I’d go catch a shower, maybe a last meal… listening to the lesiye boy in a field that if it had been in our world would have given me allergic reactions, while a spell that was turned into a dog came over to have its ears scritched…well, this wasn’t likely to be the most surreal thing that had or would happen to me.

He seemed to take my consideration as assent.  “So, once upon a time in a land, far, far away… or, to be more precise, about three years ago in New York City…”  He had gone from the sing-song beat of tradition to something I knew to be a translation, but while there was still a trace of attitude, Artur was no longer “Sullen Boy” to me.  I only hoped I had grown up a little in his eyes, too.

I paid attention to the story.

“Vasilisa the Wise was recently married to a young computer programmer we’ll name Kievan for the sake of the story, and, really, to kind of give him the benefit of the doubt.  Kievan and his father are born to this country, but his mother was an immigrant and told him tales of Grandmother Yaga scary enough to make him kind to old women and suspicious of cabins where he can’t find the front door.  Two important things to teach a young boy.

“Vasilisa was going by the name Lisa this decade, and I forget what she does for money, but I think she supplements with writing advice columns on the internet.  Still, she is a wizard, if not zduhaći,” he paused.

“Hence `the wise,'” I nodded.

“And it means her social group is similarly somewhat curbed.”  He gave me a Look.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I grumbled.  I could meet normal people.  I do, every day I go out and work, but maybe I need to rethink my bigotry when it comes to my attitude about the fey; even for me, non-practitioners do seem to fall into the background.  I mean, some friends stand out, like Ed, who knows what I am, but for some of the echelons above me, telling people your little secrets about how you view the world poses its own risks.

He nodded.  “I really do have a girlfriend,” he said, defensively.

I didn’t know what to say, but “I believe you,” sounded patronizing, and “I did,” sounded pathetic, so I didn’t say anything, and just nodded, instead.

“When he wanted to hold a small reception for their friends, she had to tell Kievan something.  She had learned from her time as a frog, another story about her, to be careful in advertising her relationships.  Kievan, of course, expected her to have a great number of friends.”

“I sense a geek social fallacy coming on,” I sighed. Artur didn’t seem to catch it, so I continued.  “Sounds like a number four, `All my friends will be friends, too.'”

“That’s…” he thought it over, “dangerous.  Wisdom suggests otherwise,” he said, carefully.

“It’s an easy thought, after all, they all have you in common, and you like them, so why wouldn’t they like each other?  Of course, then you find out that your best friend slept with your other friend’s wife’s sister, and it’s been Word War Three ever since that patio party last summer… but anyway.”

Artur grinned.  “Except with wizards there are the occasional assassination attempts, and don’t forget the sacred quests.”

“I can’t forget the sacred quests.  Every time I go to the grocery store I feel geased to make sure I have bread, milk, butter, AND eggs.”

He chortled, and continued his story.  “So Kievan, not being given the nom de plume `the Wise,’ continues to push in the classic way fairytale spouses are known to do, until Vasilisa relents and agrees that she will invite some of her friends.  She does, of course, have to avoid known eaters of mortals, and those who are not yet comfortable with this century.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I thought I told you I watched a lot of television.  It makes the transition easier.  Anyway, so Vasilisa goes over the guest list a couple of times.  It does not occur to her that she needs to cross the ones she doesn’t want sent out, or that her husband’s plan was to make it a bit of a surprise party.”

“That’s some contact list,” I interjected.

Artur looked confused.

“I mean, don’t most wizards have, `Arachne, address: any silver spider web under the full moonlight,’ and `Troll, bridge over troubled waters,’ kind of in their personal Rolodex?”

“How would you expect them to get their mail?  They take the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes very seriously in some places.”

I looked for signs to see if Artur was joking, but he kept a straight face as he went on with the story.  “She was wise, and many of the names were in code, but Kievan was not discouraged by the lack of contact and the many envelopes that came back returned.  It had, however, gotten notice in a certain segment of those who share our knowings that there was a party to be held.  You may have noticed in this day and age…”

“That there’s a certain lack of balls… um, dancing and big parties with lots of unusual creatures… so to speak?”

“That the festivities have gotten much tamer, yes.”  Artur pinched his nose, trying not to laugh.  I’d say his face went a bit wooden, but I’ve been trying to avoid the pun.

“What about the thirteenth fairy?” I asked.

“The…?” he shook his head.

“Comes in and curses the maiden because her invite was lost?  Briar Rose, Sleeping Beauty and all that?”

“I always thought Malificent had it won if it weren’t for the stupid analogue of the Lancelot situation.”

“Yeah, one asbestos shield didn’t a dragon-repellent make.  I’m with you there, but good has to defeat evil, and all that.”

“Well, she had some pretty incompetent hirelings, too.  I did wonder what she was wearing under the robes, though.”

“Nothing,” I said, quickly.  “That makes her wicked, and she was certainly that.”

He chuckled. “Agreed.  And in this case, there were a few people who figured on stopping by, invite or not.  After all, the wording was done by her husband, and he wanted it to be as open-ended as possible, wanted to meet her friends, and don’t tell her because it’s a surprise, well, you see the kind of disaster it started to be.

“So, Vasilisa is wise, and not at all outside the loop entirely, but as wise as she is, she is still somewhat hampered by the fact that you have to deal with imperfect interpersonal relationships, and she really doesn’t feel she can confront her husband.”

“I can imagine the conversations.  `Um, honey, you remember that surprise party?  Do you think it was a good surprise to invite both my blood sucking cousin Harry and your virgin sister?'”

“It’s just not done, really.  Some immortals are really the worst feminists.”  Artur shrugged, and it sounded like wood creaking.  “So she makes some plans to counteract all of it, and, day of the party, it’s working.”

“Logistically speaking, that must have been one huge cups-and-ball trick.”

“She’s a wizard, and that one is famous all over the world.”  He pauses.  “But then there’s a problem.    There is an uninvited guest.”

“A party crasher.  Heard about it from a chatty sylph and thought he’d score some chicks, right?  Brought some kegs of pilfered Vanir mead and a smile?”

“Who’s telling the story?” it was a guffaw, this time.  “Close enough.   And he kept calling out for Vasilisa.  The problem is, he kept refering to Vasilisa as the man of the house.  Which, of course, gave her an idea…”